Traitor
by AReasonToSwim
Summary: A one-shot of Caleb and Beatrice's Choosing Ceremony written from Caleb's prespective.


**DISCLAIMER:** **Veronica Roth owns the world of **_**Divergent**_**; I am simply playing****around with it. The writing is mostly my own, however, I did take some quotes from the book.**

The bus we take to the Choosing Ceremony is full of people in grey shirts and grey slacks. A pale ring of sunlight burns into the clouds like the end of a lit cigarette. I will never smoke one myself—they are closely tied to vanity—but a crowd of Candor smokes them in front of the blue building when we get off of the bus.

Beatrice tilts her head back to look at the top of the Hub. It's the tallest building in the city. The lights on the two prongs on its roof can be seen from my bedroom window.

Beatrice and I follow our parents off of the bus. I try to keep myself looking calm, but Beatrice looks like a nervous wreck. I don't understand why she would be. She's too selfless to not choose Abnegation. Is she having second thoughts? She grabs my arm as we walk up the front steps.

The elevator is crowded, so my father volunteers to give a cluster of Amity our place. We climb the stairs instead, following him unquestioningly. We set an example for our fellow faction members, and soon the three of us are engulfed in the mass of grey fabric ascending the cement stairs in the half light. I settle into their pace. The uniform pounding of my feet in my ears and the homogeneity of the people around me makes me realize just how much I was going to miss all of this.

My father holds the door open on the twentieth floor and stands like a sentry as every Abnegation walks past him. I would wait for him, but the crowd presses me forward, out of the stairwell and into the room we will all decide the rest of our lives.

The room is arranged in concentric circles. On the edges stand the sixteen-year-olds of every faction. We are not called members yet; our decisions today will make us initiates, and we will become members if we complete our initiation.

We arrange ourselves in alphabetical order, according to the last names we may leave behind today. I stand between Beatrice and a boy who's in my math class, Tyler Quinn. He's Dauntless and dressed in all black, from head to toe, making his skin seem paler than it probably already is.

Rows of chairs for our families make up the next circle. They are arranged in five sections, according to faction. Not everyone in each faction comes to the choosing ceremony, but enough of them come that the crowd looks huge.

The responsibility to conduct the ceremony rotates from faction to faction each year, and this year is Abnegation's. Marcus will give the opening address and read all the names in reverse alphabetical order. Tyler will choose before me, I will choose before Beatrice.

In the last circle there are five metal bowls so large that if Beatrice were to curl up into a ball, it would probably fit her whole body. Each bowl contains a substance that represents each faction: grey stones for Abnegation, water for Erudite, earth for Amity, lit coals for Dauntless, and glass for Candor.

When Marcus Calls my name, I will walk to the center of the three circles. I will not speak. He will offer me a knife. I will cut into my hand and sprinkle my blood into the bowl of the faction I choose.

My blood will tint the water.

Before my parents sit down, they stand in front of Beatrice and me. My father kisses Beatrice on the forehead and claps me on the shoulder, grinning.

"See you soon," he says confidently, without a trace of doubt.

My mother hugs me, the Beatrice. She holds Beatrice longer than necessary. Eventually, Beatrice lets her hands fall. Before my mother pulls away from Beatrice, she whispers something in her ear.

Beatrice frowns as they walk away. I grab her hand and squeeze it. Soon we'll be going our separate ways.

The last time we held hands was at my uncle's funeral, as my father cried. I needed her strength now, just as I did then.

Marcus stands at the podium between the Erudite and the Dauntless and clears his throat into the microphone, "Welcome," he says. "Welcome to the Choosing Ceremony. Welcome to the day we honor the democratic philosophy of our ancestors, which tells us that every man has the right to choose his own way in this world."

Beatrice squeezes my hand back.

"Our dependents are now sixteen. They stand on the precipice of adulthood, and now it is up to them to decide what kind of people they will be. Decades ago our ancestors realized that it is not political ideology, religious belief, race, or nationalism that is to blame for a warring world. Rather, they determined that it was the fault of human personality—of humankind's inclination towards evil, in whatever form that is. They divided into five factions that sought to eradicate those qualities they believed responsible for the world's disarray."

I look at each of the bowls in the center of the room. My eyes fall on the bowl of Erudite, my soon to be chosen faction.

"Those who blamed aggression formed Amity."

The Amity all exchange smiles.

"Those who blamed ignorance became Erudite."

I look down at my grey, scuffed sneakers.

"Those who blamed duplicity created Candor. Those who blamed selfishness made Abnegation"

I think of my family. I think of my mother, my father, Beatrice, and everything I will leave behind today.

"And those who blamed cowardice were the Dauntless."

But I'm not Abnegation. I am Erudite and I will have to learn to accept _faction before blood_.

"Working together, these five factions have lived in peace for many years, each contributing to a different sector of society. Abnegation has fulfilled our need for selfless leaders in government; Candor has provided us with trustworthy and sound leaders in law; Erudite had supplied us with intelligent teachers and researchers; Amity has given us understanding counselors and caretakers; and Dauntless provides us with protection both within and without. But the reach of each faction is not limited to these areas. We give one another far more than can be adequately summarized. In our factions we find meaning, we find purpose, we find life."

_Faction before blood_. More than family, our factions are where we belong. Can that possibly be right?

"Apart from them, we would not survive."

The silence that follows his speech is heavier than other silences. He's talking about everyone's worst fear. A fear greater than death: to be factionless.

Marcus continues, "Therefore this day marks a happy occasion—the day on which we receive our new initiates, who will work with us toward a better society and a better world."

A round of applause. Marcus begins to read off the names.

The first person to choose goes with Amity, the faction she was originally from.

Marcus calls, "James Tucker," and a Dauntless boy stumbles his way to the bowls. He throws his arms out, regaining balance before falling flat on his face. He then quickly walks to the middle of the room. He looks back and forth between the Dauntless coals and the Candor glass before Marcus offers him the knife. He deeply inhales, accepts the knife, then exhales. He drags it across his palm, holds his arm out to the side and as his blood drips on the glass he is officially the first to switch factions. Mutters rise from the Dauntless section and I stare at my shoes again.

"Tyler Quinn," Marcus says into the microphone. The Dauntless boy next to me walks up and takes the knife from Marcus. He slits his hand with ease and holds it over one of the bowls. His blood drips onto the soil and more murmurs arise from the Dauntless section. Tyler stands there for a second, Beaming across the room. For a second I'm not sure who he's smiling at, but then I look and see Annie Oullette, a Candor girl who grins right back at him. She must be switching to Amity, too.

I'm next. I take a deep breath in and slowly let it out.

"Caleb Prior,"

I squeeze Beatrice's hand one last time, as a goodbye and an I'm sorry. I look at her over my shoulder as I walk to the center of the room. I try to stay calm as I accept my knife from Marcus. I press the knife into my hand. If it hurts, I can't feel it. I let the blood pool in my hand for a second.

I breathe out, and then back in. I hold my hand over the Erudite bowl and let my blood drip into the water, turning it a deeper shade of red.

This is it. I have chosen. I am selfish. I am intelligent. I am a traitor. And there's no turning back now.


End file.
